By Karel Ancona-Henry
For the Appeal
I've had a couple instances recently, where I blew it big time.
I was grateful it was me and not my children who did so. Had they been the perpetrators of my actions, I presume I would still be screaming at them.
But when it's a "Mom Blew It," well frankly, how much yelling can you really do at yourself?
The first was during the holidays. I was very busy and trying to paint my fingernails that beautiful Christmas red. You know, that color that was oh-so-popular through 1959 and has made periodic comebacks (read the holiday season) ever since. My grandmother was masterful at wearing red; wore it every day of every year of my entire life and judging by the pictures, hers too.
So there I was, sitting on my sofa, painting away while trying to take phone calls, periodically walking around with my toes spread and using only the tippy tips of my fingers while completing last-minute packing, tying bows and such.
I was on the last coat, with the bottle of True Red squeezed between my knees, when voila - it spilled. All over my jeans and down the front of the sofa cushion. Not one side or the other, where the fix would involve flipping the cushion, but on the front for the whole world to see.
I have since found a new religion and it is celebrated at the Church of Bobby Page Cleaners.
Then just this week, I was sewing a Valentine's gift. As happens with the blowing it thing, I was in a hurry. Now I believe in the deepest part of my soul, that ironing is evil. Getting out the ironing board only happens every couple years and for very specific reasons. That's why, when you see me wearing cotton or linen, and I wear a lot of it, there's a slightly crinkled look about me. I don't care. Anything to avoid the "I" word.
Foregoing the unearthing of the board, I plugged the iron in the living room (bad room for messing things up, apparently), and even skipped laying down the usual towel. I went to pressing, on the steam setting (flaming hot), the item I was sewing.
When I was done, realized I had left not one, but four perfect, semi-melted iron imprints in the carpet.
Really glad I was the one to blow it ...
My boyfriend, his children and I were at Wal-Mart recently. In need of fabric for his Valentine's gift (see where this got me?), I left them in Man World and headed for fabric. Got what I needed and added it to the collection in my basket - pewter drawer pulls, garden fencing, thread.
So we're finally in check-out, which can take a while at Wal-Mart.
This particular day, it was long enough for Clint to check out the basket contents.
"Boy babe, you must have shopped fast and taken my present out to the truck," he said.
"Uh-huh," I replied.
Two minutes later ...
"What ya got in there," he asked, poking around.
"Nothing."
Couple more minutes later ...
"What's this," he asked lifting a non-descript piece of fabric and revealing an Americana Woods piece that only he would enjoy.
"This is for me?"
"Leave my stuff alone," I told him.
About that point, they decided to open a new register and I left him to check out all his Man World items, yelling over my shoulder, "You are too damned observant, honey."
As the lady behind me started to laugh, I realized this: Of all the qualities in a man I could whine about, this should not be one of them.
A reminder:
The Lyon County Democratic Central Committee meets 10 a.m. Saturday at the Stagecoach Community Center on Highway 50 in Stagecoach. This is the final planning and logistics meeting before the convention and as many people as possible are needed to attend.
If you have upcoming events or meetings, please give me a call. I need your information by Monday in order to get it in the column for Friday. Often, organizations meet on Wednesday or Thursday, but the information doesn't get here in time. If possible, give me two weeks notice for your events or meetings and I will plan accordingly.
Here's a thought: With all the political news going on, we have received a blissful break from Britney (Spears) updates. Yeah!
• Karel C. Ancona-Henry can be reached at 246-4000.